


Day 3 - Gunplay

by readbetweenthelions



Series: 30-Day Smut Challenge [3]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Gunplay, M/M, Oral Sex, Restraints, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:38:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4721396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readbetweenthelions/pseuds/readbetweenthelions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon Solo stands over him with a shiny black pistol in his hands, braced with locked elbows and squared shoulders, his head cocked to one side and that stupid, smug smirk on his face. At any other time, Illya would believe Napoleon had finally gone rogue. What makes this different is that Illya had agreed to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 3 - Gunplay

**Author's Note:**

> SURPRISE SURPRISE BET YOU DIDNT KNOW I’M NOT ANIME TRASH 100% OF THE TIME (only like 98% of the time). man from UNCLE fic because i literally think about napoleon telling illya to “take it like a pussy” 24/7.

“Come on, Kuryakin. It’s just a bit of fun.”

Based on Illya’s previous experience, this is not what fun generally tends to look like.

Napoleon Solo stands over him with a shiny black pistol in his hands, braced with locked elbows and squared shoulders, his head cocked to one side and that stupid, smug smirk on his face. At any other time, Illya would believe Napoleon had finally gone rogue. What makes this different is that Illya had agreed to it.

Illya grunts noncommittally. He shifts a little where he lies naked on Napoleon’s bed, tugging at the fabric his wrists are tied to the headboard by. He had agreed to that and to all of this because Napoleon had _begged_ , and because he does not need his hands to get out of this if things get hairier than Illya would like them to get. He will play along with Napoleon’s game.

The only thing saving Napoleon from nudity is a pair of tight, dark navy boxers. Illya studies Napoleon’s body as he has many times before. Napoleon is not a small man; he is tall and muscular and with a bulge in his boxers that can only be described as large. All of that being true unless he is compared to Illya, of course.

“Is that loaded?” Illya asks, eyeing the pistol.

Napoleon shrugs. “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t,” he says. “Maybe there’s just one bullet, like in that so-called ‘game’ your illustrious countrymen invented.”

Illya glares at him witheringly. Napoleon takes no notice of it, as usual. He lowers the gun and holds it lazily, with the barrel pointing haphazardly at Illya’s chest. Napoleon’s arms relax and his free hand falls to his side. He uses it to help him climb onto the bed, slipping one knee between Illya’s legs and straddling one of Illya’s thighs. Instinctively, Illya raises his knee to push it against Napoleon’s crotch. In response, Napoleon pushes his own knee up farther, applying heavy pressure to Illya’s balls.

“You’re not the one calling the shots here, Peril,” Napoleon says. He smirks and brandishes the gun a little. “Shots,” he adds, to emphasize the pun he had inadvertently made.

Illya gets the joke. He does not think it is that amusing.

Napoleon presses the barrel of the gun to Illya’s throat. That is not the first time Illya has had that happen to him in his life, but the first time he has had it happen while naked. This time is not as frightening as those times, mostly because Illya knows Napoleon won’t shoot. And not that he was scared the other times, either. Illya stays stock still and waits for Napoleon to make whatever move he intends to make next.

“I like you like this,” Napoleon says.

The metal is smooth and cool as it travels down his sternum, chill at first and gradually picking up the warmth of his skin. The touch of it is light enough by the time Napoleon trails it over his stomach that it almost tickles, and Illya’s abdominal muscles clench tight in response.

“Ah,” Napoleon says. “Very nice, Peril. You _do_ have a good body. Almost as good as mine.”

Illya glowers up at Napoleon, but Napoleon is not looking at Illya’s face. His attention is turned down much farther, absently licking his lower lip as he studies Illya’s cock where it rests on his stomach. Slowly, Napoleon drags the smooth side of the gun barrel along the length of Illya’s half-hard cock, humming appreciatively when it twitches and stiffens a little more.

“You like it, huh?” Napoleon says. “You’re quite the pervert, aren’t you? Or maybe just a thrill-seeker. After all, adrenaline only makes sex better, am I right?”

Illya bites the inside of his lip and resists the urge to point out that this whole charade is Napoleon’s idea, not Illya’s.

Napoleon’s free hand slips between Illya’s legs and nudges them apart. Illya takes the hint and spreads his legs open, letting Napoleon reposition himself to kneel between Illya’s legs. Illya resists the urge to shiver at the light touch of Napoleon’s hand on the inside of his thigh.

“Good,” Napoleon mutters.

Illya swallows as he feels the barrel of the gun pushed hard between his legs. The pistol is still cool, and its edges don’t exactly make the pressure feel comfortable, but something about it makes him ache somewhere else entirely. He shuts his eyes and feels his cock twitch at the deep, urgent feeling of arousal that sparks where Napoleon is pushing at his prostate through the soft flesh between Illya’s legs with the barrel of the pistol.

Illya’s cock is standing stiff out of his lap when Napoleon wraps his fingers around it. He moves his hand slowly at first, stroking Illya up from the base of his dick and pushing his foreskin forward, then down and pulling his foreskin back to expose the pinkish, sensitive head of his cock. Illya’s foreskin is a fascination for Napoleon, Illya knows, since Napoleon doesn’t have any of his own. But it feels good, and so Illya lets him play. Napoleon settles into a steady rhythm, and the repetitive touch and the pressure of the pistol pushed against his perineum let a sweet arousal pool in Illya’s hips.

The speed of Napoleon’s hand pumping around Illya’s cock slows a little for a moment, as if Napoleon is distracted. Then Illya feels a strange sensation – it’s hot and wet and sudden and it startles Illya. Illya doesn’t know at first what it is, but the more it moves the better of an idea Illya has. Is that… his _tongue?_ On Illya’s _asshole?_

“What are you doing?” Illya demands, squirming on the bed and pulling at the restraints.

The wet pressure of Napoleon’s tongue stops as suddenly as it had started. Napoleon lifts his head and cocks it to one side, peering around Illya’s dick to look up at Illya’s face.

“I’m eating you out, Kuryakin,” Napoleon says. “I can stop, if you want.”

Illya hesitates. The sensation was foreign, but not _bad_. Illya doesn’t quite know _why_ Napoleon would _want_ to put his mouth there, but…

“No,” Illya says. “As… as you were.”

Napoleon shrugs and bends his neck again, his soft lips brushing Illya’s hole before his warm wet tongue returns. Illya groans. The more he gets used to it the more the sensation feels sweet and intense. The pace of Napoleon’s hand pumping around Illya’s cock quickens as he figures out his rhythm.

Illya tries to keep his breathing even as Napoleon eats him out, but knows that he is breathing heavy. After a while of jerking him off, Napoleon pauses for a moment. With a small smile he pulls Illya’s foreskin down gently and slowly rubs the pad of his thumb over the exposed, sensitive head of Illya’s cock. Illya gasps and his hips buck involuntarily, his body momentarily unable to handle the intensity. Napoleon waits for him to settle back down before continuing.

“Feel good?” Napoleon asks. Illya hesitates for a moment, then nods. “How about I make you feel even better?”

Illya looks down at him, but doesn’t speak. He knows Napoleon will take that as an open invitation – Illya wants him to, and he does. Napoleon sits up and repositions himself kneeling between Illya’s thighs, bent slightly over Illya’s torso. As Napoleon shifts, the barrel of the gun pushes harder between Illya’s legs, making him squirm against it.

“Hold still,” Napoleon says. Illya feels a fingertip press against his hole, and then slowly slip inside.

“Ah – ”

“Shh.”

Illya wills himself to relax around Napoleon’s finger. Napoleon pushes it in and pulls it out, slow at first and then a little faster, loosening up the tight muscles inside Illya. Illya lets himself be fingered and then lets Napoleon slip a second finger inside him. The second finger stretches him open, makes him suck in a breath and hold it until his body accommodates and the slight pain fades and Napoleon’s fingers are all the way inside him.

“There,” Napoleon says. “How’s that? Comfortable?”

Illya nods again.

Now that he has both fingers fully inside, Napoleon angles them towards Illya’s prostate. Illya’s jaw clenches tight when he finds it. Napoleon pushes at the spot from inside him with his fingers and from without with the gun, and Illya tries to choke back a moan but doesn’t quite manage to keep himself silent.

“A _ha_ ,” Napoleon says. “There we go.”

Illya feels a drop of precum drip slowly down his cock. Having such direct stimulation to his prostate has made Illya’s body hot and flushed all over, warm from the deep feeling of arousal.

“You’re dripping,” Napoleon points out.

“Shut up. I know.”

Napoleon leans forward over Illya a little more, examining Illya’s dick and the dribble of clear fluid running down its underside. Napoleon licks his lips to wet them and lowers his head, tracing a teasing tongue over the tip of Illya’s cock. Illya takes a shuddering breath in response. Before he has quite gathered his composure again, Napoleon wraps his lips around Illya and takes him into his mouth.

Illya tugs at the restraints. “Solo – ”

“Mm.”

Napoleon uses his mouth like an expert, keeping his soft, wet lips and twining tongue on Illya’s cock at all times as he bobs his head. Now and then Napoleon stops, forces his own head down until most of Illya’s cock is in his mouth and the head of it is pushing against the back of Napoleon’s throat, holds there and lets Illya feel his throat struggling against his gag reflex until Illya moans and sighs in reaction and Napoleon backs off.

Napoleon pulls off of Illya’s cock for only a second, then kisses and sucks along the length of it, licking up extra saliva and pulling at Illya’s foreskin with his lips. When he finally reaches the tip, Napoleon presses his lips to the head of Illya’s cock and parts them, once again taking Illya into his mouth.

Illya lets himself relax, feeling the pleasure of Napoleon’s fingers inside him and his warm mouth around him. For a moment he almost forgets the presence of the pistol, the feeling of the now-warm metal fading into the background of the pleasure. As Napoleon sucks him Illya feels the muscles of his core tighten, feels his hole constrict around Napoleon’s fingers, the arousal sinking deep into him.

“Should I fuck you now?”

Napoleon’s voice and the loss of Napoleon’s lips on his cock breaks Illya’s concentration. He opens his eyes and lets them roll down to fix his gaze on Napoleon. Napoleon is wiping excess saliva from his mouth with the back of a hand, his eyes trained on Illya’s face. Illya gives him a small nod. A wide grin breaks across Napoleon’s face.

Napoleon sits up and kneels between Illya’s spread-apart legs. He pulls the pistol away from Illya’s crotch, lifts it until it rests under Illya’s chin, tips Illya’s head up until the opening of the barrel is pressed to Illya’s skin – a straight shot through his chin and the roof of his mouth and into his brain, if Napoleon were to pull the trigger. Illya swallows against the pressure and wills his body to relax.

Napoleon spreads his pair of fingers apart inside of Illya, stretching him open a little more to prepare him. He slowly draws the fingers out, leaving Illya’s insides feeling empty and a little cold, the absence of his warmth sending a barely-suppressed shiver zipping up Illya’s spine. One-handed, Napoleon pulls his boxers down off his erection and off his body entirely. When he has shuffled out of them he scoots closer to Illya once more and lines his cock up to Illya’s hole, pushing just the tip in at first. Illya relaxes around him and lets Napoleon slowly sink all the way inside him.

As loath as Illya is to admit it, Napoleon is undeniably a good fuck. His rhythm as he thrusts into Illya is smooth and measured and the exact right speed. Illya grunts and lays his head back on the pillow, surrendering to Napoleon inside him and the pistol that Napoleon keeps pressed under his chin.

“You’re always so tight, Kuryakin,” Napoleon says. “You’re so _tense_. Relax a little, would you?”

Illya lifts his head, pushing against the pistol to look at Napoleon. “Relax? There is a _gun_ – ”

“I know, I know.”

Napoleon fucks him steadily, the springs of the bed creaking softly under them. Illya enjoys the feeling of fullness – much better than just a pair of fingers – and the long, rhythmic thrusts of Napoleon’s hips. Illya shuts his eyes to focus on his own body, relaxes against his restraints, and lets Napoleon have his way.

Napoleon fucks him for a long time, bringing himself closer to orgasm and sustaining Illya’s arousal, making Illya’s chest heave with pleasured sighs when Illya can no longer hold them back. Illya rests at a high plateau of excitement, hovering just under his climax. He resists his orgasm once, twice, three times, tensing himself against it, not wanting to come before Napoleon does. It is a ridiculous bit of competitiveness, but Illya cannot let it go.

Napoleon gives a heavy breath. “Still not getting off yet?” he asks, every other word punctuated with a thrust into Illya. “My God, you’re a workhorse. You take _forever._ Come on, let’s just come together, then.”

It’s a compromise Illya will take. Napoleon’s pace increases ever so slightly and Illya can tell that he is driving to make himself come. Illya watches him lick his lips and lift his free hand from Illya’s hips. He wraps his fingers around Illya’s cock, pumping in time to his hips as he fucks into Illya.

The added stimulation runs through Illya’s body like an electric shock. His body tenses tight and the fabric restraints dig into his wrists from the tension his flexed arms and shoulders put on them. He will not be able to resist his orgasm this time, no matter how practiced he is at it. Illya hears his own breathing devolve into shaky, uneven gasps, but he is much too close to his climax to worry about how he looks and sounds.

“Alright – that’s it,” Napoleon murmurs. “Come for me.”

Illya swears in Russian and arches his back, feeling all the pleasure finally cresting. The last word he manages to get out before his body finally releases is Napoleon’s name, his given name, something saved only for intimate moments.

“Shit,” Napoleon swears, watching Illya’s cum pump onto his own stomach. He gives a few more thrusts, each sending a jolt through Illya, and with the last thrust Illya feels Napoleon’s semen fill him.

There’s a moment of silence after they’re both finished. Napoleon takes a couple of quick breaths to clear his head. Illya’s body shudders and shakes in the wake of his orgasm, the pleasure not yet fully over and the satisfaction not yet ready to start sinking deep into his muscles. He feels the pressure of the pistol alleviate, and hears a heavy clattering as Napoleon sets the gun on the nightstand.

“Illya,” Napoleon says. “Are you okay?”

Illya’s eyes flutter open, his eyes taking a few seconds to focus on Napoleon’s face, inches from his own. Napoleon looks concerned, eyebrows knitted and a frown etched on his mouth. Illya takes an unsteady breath and lets it out.

“Was it too much?” Napoleon asks.

“No,” Illya says. “It was good.”

“You’re shaking.”

“It was _very_ good.”

For an instant Napoleon looks relieved, and then his expression is replaced by a twisted, smug grin.

“You _are_ quite the pervert, aren’t you! _Very_ good, you say! Well, I do my best. As I’m sure you’re aware, since you get to experience me first-hand.”

“You are too cocky, Cowboy.”

Napoleon shrugs and uses one hand to steady himself as he pulls out of Illya. Some of Napoleon’s cum drips out of him and onto the sheets below him – not the most pleasant feeling in the world, but Illya has had worse. He watches Napoleon circle around the bed to untie Illya’s restraints from the bed posts. Illya sits up immediately once he is released, freeing himself of the fabric and rubbing his wrists.

“We’ve made an absolute _mess_ of my sheets,” Napoleon says. He clicks his tongue against his teeth and taps his foot lightly on the hardwood. “Peril, call down to the front desk and have them bring some clean sheets up. And then – meet me in the shower.”

Illya watches Napoleon’s naked ass as he struts towards the bathroom, and picks up the phone on the nightstand once Napoleon has disappeared out of sight.


End file.
